[Josh Dagreat]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Market District

“Benalin!” Alyraa yelled as she exited from the path that lead the Imperial City prison and waded into the busy Market district. The bosmer seemed to glance up for a second before hurrying into the Merchant’s inn, carrying a large brown sack. So he wants to ignore me. Alyraa felt a twinge of anger rise up in her; today wasn’t the day to ignore her, she’d been met with laughter and disbelief at the Legion offices too, and was in a particularly bad mood. She started off angrily towards the inn, bumping people in manner devoid of her usual grace and returning the angry looks she received. She had almost crossed the street when an old breton woman carrying a basket of apples walked in front of her. The woman shrieked as Alyraa ran into her, knocking the basket from her hand and sending her apples flying.

“I’m so sorry,” Alyraa exclaimed as the woman's apples tumbled through the crowd. Bouncing from one foot to the other in an attempt to not crush any of them, she helped the old breton retrieve her stock. Distracted by the sudden encounter, Alyraa didn’t notice the young imperial from the market tent step into the inn shortly after the bosmer. Having successfully retrieved most of what they could find, she carefully slipped a few coins in the woman’s basket and bid her farewell.

The drunken smiles of the tavern’s patrons hit Alyraa as she walked in. She felt uneasy seeing the men stare at her as she walked across to the innkeeper. He seemed to spot the displeasure in her face, and hurriedly offered her a room, “Got one upstairs if you need it, a lot less men.”

“I won’t be needing a room, thank you,” she replied, turning her gaze toward him. “I’m looking for a bosmer, carrying a large sack. He’s a good friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said with a frown, “I hope he doesn’t rob you blind. Upstairs, fourth door on the right.” He gestured towards the stairs.

Rob me blind? Maybe that explains that imperial woman’s business with him.

She nodded, and turned up the stairs. She didn’t think the situation needed any more explaining, especially not to the innkeeper. She walked down the hallway til she came to the fourth door, and turned to face it. She wasn’t sure what she’d say to him, he’d probably think she was stalking him, but she needed information; who the bounty hunter was and where she could find her, it looked to be the only way she’d get her horse back.

She started to knock loudly on the door, expecting the elf to answer.

[Rachel Eloise Getoutofmyface]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Merchants Tavern -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Illana stuffed the body on the open cabinet, trying desperately to fold his corpse so that she can better fit him in the wooden furniture. Eventually, she was successful. Without much thought, she pulled the blood-drenched bolt away from Benalin's skull. She also retrieved the key to the room from his pocket. As she closed the doors shut to hide his cadaver, she heard a strong knocking on the door to the room.

Who in Hircine's name could that be? Everytime I do something to this Bosmer someone has to interfere. I swear, if it's that blasted Argonian again... Her eyes widened and her heart began to pound. She realized she didn't lock it. Perhaps it was the innkeeper looking to receive his pay? Or one of the patrons who tried to follow her here. She gentle set her crossbow down on the side of the wall. She knelt down, yanking away her concealed combat knife from it's sheathe in her boot. Hiding on the side of the wall, she pressed her ear closer to the door. Her nostrils flared as she tried to sniff out the unwanted intruder. When her scent failed her, Illana decided to take a peek through the keyhole. Her golden eyes spotted a person indeed, but she could only get a glimpse. It seemed to be a young woman, that much was certain. Illana could tell by the blond hair and the feminine figure.

Could this be the girl Benalin was talking about? Illana bit her lip in uncertainty. She looked behind her and spotted a small marking of spilled blood where she had committed the act. Damn, now what do I do? She used her fingers to hide the combat knife in a standing position, hiding behind her wrist as she opened the door with her other hand. She did not want to draw attention. The wisest choice would be to wait until the girl left, giving her time to get her things and leave. The Legion guards would be on her tail, eventually, but the Thalmor's arrival would be sure to hinder any of their progress.

The Huntress was confident they would completely forget about a Bounty Hunter who killed a deadbeat when facing an invasion force of the Dominion. Illana did not know what to do with the girl, provided she is the same girl he spoke of. She didn't even remember spotting her in the tavern when she entered. She probably followed me here, or is trying to get in contact with Benalin. He did say she required her services. There was nothing to lose.

Still having her identity hidden behind a steel helmet, Illana opened the door, standing at the center so she could block any view from the outside to the inside. Now, she got a much clearer picture of whom the person was. Indeed, it was a woman. And it was a Nordic girl. Like the people of her kind, she was tall. She had azure eyes as well as a lithe athletic build much like herself.

The girl was garbed in leather pants, fur boots and an array of other assorted items that seemed to cluster around the young woman. Illana couldn't help but notice she had some resemblance to her a bit. Apart from the eye color and the physical aspect, she seemed to be a runner. And her hair nearly matched as well.

"Something I can help you with?" Illana risked asking her. She was in a hurry to leave, but she did have services to offer. Even if she had received a lot of gold in a single day.

[Peter P Canning]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn

Alyraa was starting to get impatient. What is he doing in there? Probably knew I’d come up here, after he saw me in the street. She started knocking a little more furiously, wondering if she should just burst in and confront him. Before she had a chance to decide a course of action, the door swung open revealing a woman standing in full armor. She most certainly wasn’t Benalin.

“Something I can help you with?”

“Uhh no, sorry, wrong room,” Alyraa said impulsively, embarrassed by the sudden meeting. She glanced down the hall and counted the doors, one, two, three…

Alyraa turned back to the woman blocking the doorway. She was wearing steel armor that looked to be custom made, Alyraa could tell by how well it fit her body, and wore a helmet that completely covered her face. Answering the door dressed in full armor, including a helmet that hid her identity, struck Alyraa as odd behavior for someone staying in an inn. Wait a second.

“Are you the girl from the market tent this morning? I saw you talking with Benalin,” she inquired, remembering back to the altercation she had witnessed earlier that day. She thought this was the same girl, the armor looked right, but she couldn’t be completely sure.

“Where is Benalin?” she asked, without waiting for an answer to her other questions, “the innkeeper said this was his room, unless he was mistaken. This is his room, right?” She lifted herself to her toes and peered over the woman, trying to get a clear look into the room. The woman was doing a good job blocking the view into the room, although Alyraa could see a cabinet in the back. The bosmer wasn’t anywhere in sight.

[Roy Harris]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Merchants Tavern -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

The young lass seemed almost impatient as she apologized for finding the wrong room. Then, she looked at the start of the hall, her eyes looking at each door before returning to Illana. She proceeded to inquire her about the predicament earlier in the day.

“Are you the girl from the market tent this morning? I saw you talking with Benalin,” the woman said.

Idiot Illana, she cursed herself. The least I could of done was slightly push him so it wouldn't cause a ruckus. Once again, my rage got the best of me. Now she was given no choice but to engage in the conversation. She could of dismissed the Nord, but that would only bring more unwanted questions. Of course, she had to be expecting something like this sooner or later. She had a penchant for getting herself into these scenarios. It was nothing out odd in any manner. Looks like I have to deal with this one too. I am no assassin, but I'll give my best. I'll have to find out what she wants first.

“Where is Benalin?” the girl asked.

I asked too soon, Illana thought. Apparently, the Nord stranger was eager to find Benalin for whatever reason. Her annoying and constant knocking few moments ago was enough proof of that. She probably alerted the entire tavern by now, or at least those in their rooms. Illana frowned behind her hidden visage as the Nord lifted herself slightly to she could take a peek inside of the room. Illana recognized the gesture as curiosity, and it nearly had brought a chuckle to her lips. Amusing. From what she could tell, the girl was inexperienced. But she dared not make any assumptions, as she herself wasn't the best of the best, but merely one trying to find a path to such title.

Why did Benalin have to bring the girl into this? She thought. Or maybe it was the girl's curiosity entirely. At least I killed him before he can ruin any more lives, Illana tried to make peace with her mind, before shuddering. Morals has nothing to do with this at all. It was another pay day. When the huntress wanted someone caught, they were caught. When the huntress wanted someone dead, they were dead. Of course, it was never truly personal. The bounty hunting, the slaying, it was all a just a job. And in this job, one of the most valuable of lessons Illana came to learn was how disregard morals. A Bounty Hunter was just an extension of their employers will. A weapon.

And in the thought of weapons, Illana recalled the blade held behind her hand. But before she would put it to good use, she would find out who this girl is and what she truly wanted. She surely matched the description Benalin spoke of, so it was safe to say that she wasn't a threat. Then again, he could of met more than one Nordic females in a single day. In any case, Illana wasn't eager to add another corpse to her list of troubles. She simply opened the door slightly, allowing enough space for the stranger to enter.

"Yes, this is Benalin's room. Looks like you found the right place. Please, come in." Illana said with as much honey in her words as she possibly could. And as sweet as she made herself sound, she couldn't help but feel a sour feeling. It was unnatural to her to be this "sympathetic" to ones she didn't know, even if she was acting. She stepped aside, still holding the sharp combat knife behind her wrist. This better be worth my time.

[Davorah Katz]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn


“Yes, this is Benalin’s room. Looks like you found the right place. Please, come in,” the woman said in a very welcoming voice. She slid to the side, allowing Alyraa enough space to enter the room.

Alyraa stepped inside without noticing the dagger the woman concealed. Indeed, she didn’t even pay the woman much attention as she walked by, probably an unwise move given the armor the imperial wore and the unusual circumstances. She glanced around the room as she entered. It was typical looking, with the usual amenities, although the furniture was of much higher quality than she was used to seeing in an inn. She walked across the ornate red rug on the ground, following its patterns towards the bed. The rug ended, but the red did not, there was a small patch on the ground that looked curiously like blood. Where was Benalin.

She spun around to face the woman, fiddling with the claymore on her back, making sure the woman could see. She knew she’d be outmatched if a fight broke out, after all, she didn’t carry the sword because she knew how to use it. No, she carried it because it was big, and would hopefully make anyone think twice before testing her experience with it. The imperial though, in her full steel armor, and with her unconfirmed title of bounty hunter, looked like she wouldn’t hesitate to test just that.

“Where is Benalin?” she inquired again, not getting an answer the first time. “I followed him inside, and he wasn’t downstairs. And who are you? I imagine it’s just as rude in Cyrodiil to answer to the door with your face covered.” She wondered if this was the right thing to say to the woman, but she still held on to some of her anger from earlier, and she wanted to see the face hidden under that helmet.

“Benalin spoke…highly…of you,” she lied, “if you are what he says you are.” The woman certainly looked the part. “I am in need of some help from someone like you. I was assaulted on my trip down from Bruma, a group of 10 bandits,” she exaggerated, not wanting to share the real details of the encounter, “stole my horse. Can you retrieve it?”

[Symone Velez]

Illana Desselius, The Imperial City, Merchant's Inn -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174


Illana allowed her to enter, staring at the girl as she walked on by. The woman inspected the room thoroughly. If Illana would kill her, she had to act now. She already saw the girl mess around with the claymore on her back, which told her enough that the Nord was already suspicious. She was well aware she spotted the uncleaned blood. Illana leaned on the wall, as if waiting. But in truth, she was tensed, ready to pounce in self defense if the situation called for it. But she waited a bit more, eager to discover if she could perhaps learn a thing or two from the woman.

"Where is Benalin?" the girl asked once more. Illana was getting tired of hearing that question. She was sure many people would begin to wonder what happened to Benalin or where Benalin was. She just hoped the girl would be the last one to ask her personally about his whereabouts. Illana was wasting time with the girl, this much was certain. She had to get ready to leave. But she did not want to risk attention by walking out with her armor on. If she could only sneak off using a regular lower-class garb, then no one would even expect to know anything. After all, if they inspect his body surely they would know the wound came from a bolt. And as far as she was concerned, she was the only one that was seen harassing Benalin openly in public. Something she regrets doing.

“I followed him inside, and he wasn’t downstairs. And who are you? I imagine it’s just as rude in Cyrodiil to answer to the door with your face covered.” The girl added.

The Bounty Hunter stared at the Nord. Want to know where he is? Why don't you open the cabinet and see for yourself, she thought in her mind. Speaking out loud, she said: "Benalin is here. But I'm sure he won't be able to talk...to anyone."

Illana detected anger in her voice, as if she was annoyed at something. She couldn't blame her. Everyone is frustrated, especially in these times. She considered threatening the girl to get out, but her next words halted the hostility coming from the huntress.

“Benalin spoke…highly…of you,” the Nord said "I am in need of some help from someone like you. I was assaulted on my trip down from Bruma, a group of 10 bandits stole my horse. Can you retrieve it?”

So she is looking for me. Ten bandits? And how in Oblivion did you survive an assault from ten bandits? Not a good liar, are you? Illana began to think. But the more she did, the more she realized it couldn't of been too far fetched. The girl certainly looked agile and had an athletic sense to her. She could of easily outran some of the fat highwaymen that stalked the roads at times. Or she could of surrendered the horse and left, knowing she was outmatched. Either way, it appeared Illana had another job to do. Or so she had hoped.

She barely even finished her current job and someone else came to ask for her assistance. It seemed her line of work did pay off, a lot. Each day it seemed more and more where knowing about her and her deeds. From the lowly Skooma pits of Bravil to the grand Imperial City. If only she could celebrate. Yet she was afraid she would have to decline. There was no time to be gallivanting after bandits, especially with the Thalmor at the door. She would have to take her business elsewhere.

"You already know who I am." Illana said, refering to the Nord's question on her identity. "To get your horse back I would have to sneak into their headquarters. It would be deadly." she paused, considering it. This was not a safe place to talk about the next job. In fact, where would anywhere be safe with the Thalmor on the run? She wasn't even sure she would accept it.

Illana did what she did not want to do. She sighed, sheathing the blade back into her boot and using Benalin's keys to lock the door. She walked over to the drawers, removing any type of clothing she could discover. After she located a simple brown shirt and leather pants, she set them on the bed. She then decided to remove her helmet, shaking her hair about as she did it. Her golden eyes now set upon the Nord girl, seeing her in a new, much more less suffocated view.

"You're going to have to stay put." Illana said as she began to remove parts of her armor. First, she took away the gauntlets, setting them on the side of the table. Then she slid away the black pauldrons which bore the tribal marking of Hircine. Everything else followed after. She broke the silence by continuing the conversation.

"I can't promise your steed will be safe the moment we get there. The bandits around Bruma are composed of Orcs and Nords, the strongest of men. The Orcs have an appetite for horse meat, so you might be out of luck there." She continued, placing the brown shirt over her body and her Huntsman's vest. It was a loose fit, but it sufficed. "Unless of course, they are the khajiit litter who prowls about those areas. Then you are in luck."

I've been itching for a fight with any khajiit for awhile now, she reminded herself after those bastards back at the district tried to fight her. She looked at the girl once more, eyes wide and intense, as well as inspective. "How much coin are we talking?"

[Tamara Primo]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Arena Bloodworks - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Pushing headlong into the mildly repulsive air of the Bloodworks, Rashaava noticed the Imperial woman heading through the exit; this was not hard, considering her odd habit of walking around fully armored. Rashaava kept his leather armor with him, but it was packed away in his pack. Personally, he felt that wearing armor in public places drew extra attention while giving the impression that one was ready for a fight at any moment; while the latter was probably true, it could become a self-fulfilling prophecy, drawing the ire of any of the more aggressive low-lives. Why was she here, anyway? Likely speaking with Lycus, I assume... Ah, and there he is! Indeed, Lycus had noticed Rashaava searching for him. Still glistening with sweat, he approached Rashaava. His expression was neutral, but his words were not unfriendly:

“Argonian. A pleasant surprise to see you here among the dregs. I confess that I owe you for being of service. Very honorable of you.”

Rashaava thought that referring to his visit as a “pleasant surprise” was somewhat odd considering that they had just met, but he decided that this landstrider wasn't nearly as bad as most. Especially his sister. Are they truly related? Out loud, he responded,

“It is good to see you as well, Imperial. I appreciate the thanks, but I did very little; I simply thought that you should know of that Elf's motives. Also, judging from the outcome of that match, you don't need help in the Arena. Congratulations, by the way.”

He truly was impressed with Lycus' abilities, and the congratulations was heartfelt. However, mentioning the outcome of the match brought to mind the other Imperial, who was so skilled in unarmed combat. Curious, Rahsaava continued,

“So, that... Kai, was it? I saw him in the Merchant's Inn earlier, speaking with you. Did you know him well? It is unfortunate that he did not survive... I must admit that I was greatly impressed by his prowess on the sands. In any case, I am sorry if he was a friend. However, I get the feeling that this will not deter you from competing again in the future... Judging from the skill you exhibited, you must compete often, yes?”

[Tasha Clifford]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn, 4th room on the right

Alyraa stood there, surveying the woman, watching for any sign she might attack. It was like stumbling upon a wolf in Skyrim, and waiting for the bloodthirsty creature to make its move. That’s what she’d done, stumbled right into this, and being in such a small room with the imperial made her uneasy. The woman seemed to stare at her through her mask, then she said, “Benalin is here. But I’m sure he won’t be able to talk...to anyone.”

She knew what it meant, but she didn’t want to accept it. The blood stain. The helmet. Could this girl have killed the bosmer before she got there? If she did, she was far more dangerous than Alyraa had originally thought. Now I’m stuck in this room. She pressed on, not wanting to think about it. She hadn’t known the bosmer, but it was shocking to know he might have been killed moments before.

“Benalin spoke…highly…of you, if you are what he says you are. I am in need of some help from someone like you. I was assaulted on my trip down from Bruma, a group of 10 bandits stole my horse. Can you retrieve it?”

“You already know who I am,” the woman said. “To get your horse back I would have to sneak into their headquarters. It would be deadly.” She stopped, standing there, as if she were thinking of what to do next.

Not one for names? I guess that's smart, in your line of work, she thought. She was still curious to know the woman's identity, but that would have to wait. She didn't expect the bounty hunter to be too formal anyway.

The imperial sighed, reached down to fiddle with her boot, then proceeded to lock the door. Alyraa watched her vigilantly as she walked across to the drawer and started extracting clothing. She crossed to the bed and removed her helmet, letting her dirty blonde hair fall to her shoulders. She was very beautiful.

The woman’s amber eyes fell on Alyraa as she spoke, “You’re going to have to stay put.” The imperial started removing her armor, showing that a toned body hid underneath all that armor. She didn't watch Alyraa, she just kept piling her armor on the bed.

Now was her chance, Alyraa thought, if she was going to make her escape the imperial was giving her plenty of time. She scooted slowly towards the door, ignoring the woman's command, but something stopped her. The woman obviously wasn’t interested in silencing her; she had passed up that chance. Maybe she was intrigued by the offer? She leaned against the cabinet, turning her attention back to the imperial.

"I can't promise your steed will be safe the moment we get there. The bandits around Bruma are composed of Orcs and Nords, the strongest of men. The Orcs have an appetite for horse meat, so you might be out of luck there," the woman said, putting on a shirt from the drawer. "Unless of course, they are the khajiit litter who prowls about those areas. Then you are in luck."

So she is interested.

"I suppose I'm in luck then, it was a few Khajiit," she said, not realizing she contradicted her earlier story, "I didn't see any Orcs or Nords. I know she's safe. She was a fine horse, worth her weight in gold, even bandits should be smart enough not to harm her."

The imperial turned to look at her, "How much coin are we talking?" This was the point of the conversation Alyraa was dreading. She subconsciously thought about her small sack of gold in her pack. Would it be enough to satisfy this woman? Surely not. She'd have to think of something else. She thought about mentioning the missing bosmer, but didn't dare risking aggravating the woman.

"I can pay..." she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "make it worth your while if you'll help me." The truth was, judging by the quality of her armor, she probably couldn't afford this woman. It was a long way home to Skyrim, she had no chance of asking her family for help. She wasn't sure she'd ask anyways, she didn't need them. Still, whether she could pay or not, she wasn't going to let this woman out of her sight til she agreed.

She shifted her body and stood up. The cabinet creaked and popped, glad to be rid of her weight. "Will you help me?" she asked, and stepped toward the imperial woman. She felt her foot catch for a second, before lifting itself off the floor and landing with a squish when she set it back down. She glanced back to check her foot, and saw a pool of blood forming below the cabinet, a steady drip coming from the edge of the door. She let out a small scream and went white. Quickly silencing herself, she took a few steps away and turned back to the imperial.

"Is that...."

[Bigze Stacks]

Edit: Sorry, posted in the RP thread instead of the discussion thread. Disregard this.

[helliehexx]

EDITED.

[Tarka]

EDITED.

[Miranda Taylor]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Merchant's Inn -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

With all of her gear set on the bed, Illana was ready to begin packing. She searched about the entire room, opening cupboards and the like. It wasn"t long before she located the Wood Elf's travel pack. It seemed he was planning on leaving the city sooner or later. She took the advantage of carefully placing her gear inside of the sack, piece by piece. Following her armor and her helmet, was the crossbow she picked up alongside the wall. The sack was a bit large, but enough for her to carry.

She was sweaty and a bit dirty from the recent escape with the Thalmor and everything. First thing she wanted to do was to take a proper bath and relax in a steam room. Then sleep the entire day, though she knew well that it wouldn"t do her much good. Illana kept her cool, stuffing away the remaining gold pieces that was rightfully hers. After she was done, she then decided to tie her hair with whatever she could. If she was quick enough, she can sneak away from the tavern without anyone linking her to the murder and still walk the city without everyone imagining she was the strangely armored woman. The only person seeing her face was the Nord girl, and she was more or less a loose end. But also a potential client.

"I suppose I'm in luck then, it was a few Khajiit's the girl said "I didnt see any Orcs or Nords. I know shes safe. She was a fine horse, worth her weight in gold, even bandits should be smart enough not to harm her."

"Is that so?" Illana asked. If she cared, her tone didn't show it. Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she really wanted to take on this job. There were plenty of opportunities to choose from. And when the Thalmor arrive, work will have dried up for her for awhile. Then mercenaries would surely be hired to attack and raid Thalmor embassies and bases. She could use the coin, but she rather start somewhere more productive.

"I can pay..." she said, pausing, before adding "make it worth your while if you'll help me."

Can you afford it? That was the question that bothered her. Judging by the Nords choosing of attire and quality in her weapons, she didn’t have much to offer. But even a wealthy person can pose as a beggar. Illana would have to see the gold before considering it. She was silent for a moment, eyes to the bottom side as if in deep thought.

"Will you help me?" The Nord asked.

Illana leaned tied the sack that held her belongings. She inhaled deeply. “You caught me at a bad time. As a matter of fact---"

The Imperial stopped. There was a scream that pierced her sensitive ears, a squeal emerge from the female Nord’s lips. Illana attentively turned to see Benalin’s body fallen over the stained furniture, the girl pale as snow at the sight of the dead Bosmer. Her ears perked up at the girl.

"Is that...." the Nord lass said.

Illana swore. Damn it! “That‘s a warning to those that would consider crossing the wrong people.” Illana said, a thick icy coldness in her voice. “Benalin was wanted dead. So I killed him. You might of wanted the same if you knew more about him. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

She tried to soften the act by explaining that to the girl. But as innocent as she seemed to be, Illana would have to add more bitterness, as well as aggression, to her words. She could not affort any hinderences. “I was not counting on your little intrusion. It was unexpected. Just behave and it will all be over soon.”

The Huntress walked closer to the girl, pointing an threatening finger with one hand, while the other was held high as a sign of peace. “Your lucky I don’t kill you either. I’ll let you live because you had nothing to do with this. And you might be useful.”

Illana walked to Benalin, grabbing hold of his dead corpse and once again sticking inside of the cabinet once more. She considered tying the knobs, but struck against it due to time constraints. She kept her eyes on the girl as well, very aware that she could attempt to escape.


“If you are new to Cyrodiil, then you chose a bad time to come here. I can smell the trouble brewing and it’s safe to say the province is at the brink of war. I advise to pack your things and leave before things get uglier.” She added lastly as she dragged a rug over the stains of blood.

She took herself to the table where she spotted a glass bottle. She opened the tip and sniffed it. Water, she realized. She flipped it over and began to wash her tainted hands clean of blood. “As soon as I walk out of that door, you are going to accompany me to the outside. If you so much as breathe a traitorous word I’ll stick a blade to your throat. But judging by your need of me, your smarter than that.”

Walking to the door, the huntress looked through the keyhole before swiftly turning back to the Nord. “I’ll lock this room as soon as we get out. We’ll take the back door and leave.”

[Jake Easom]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Arena -
11th of Second Seed. 4E 174

The Imperial gladiator waited for a response from the Argonian. And surely, the lizard spoke. “It is good to see you as well, Imperial. I appreciate the thanks, but I did very little; I simply thought that you should know of that Elf's motives. Also, judging from the outcome of that match, you don't need help in the Arena. Congratulations, by the way.”

Lycus considered the Argonians proud warriors. He held some of them in high respects, considering they had sacked VVardenfell and waged battle against the Dark Elves. It served some of them right for many generations of slavery. Though he knew not all were bad, and their slave ways indirectly had an influenced on his life.

He walked to a large jug made of clay, holding tons of water. He spotted a wooden cup floating about and scooped it up, bringing the cup to his mouth as he drank away. He liked the way the Argonian congratulated him, and gave a short praise on his prowess. He felt it was well-deserved. Though he didn't see it fit to boast much. "The best tecniques are passed on by the survivors. I only live to survive. And Benalin's reputation is well known. But you did well to notify me. Gratitude."

The Imperial leaned on the side of the large clay material, still feeling the after effects of the brutal combat. He gave a sidelong glance at Rashaava as he spoke and inquired about Kai.

“So, that... Kai, was it? I saw him in the Merchant's Inn earlier, speaking with you. Did you know him well? It is unfortunate that he did not survive... I must admit that I was greatly impressed by his prowess on the sands. In any case, I am sorry if he was a friend. However, I get the feeling that this will not deter you from competing again in the future... Judging from the skill you exhibited, you must compete often, yes?”

Lycus scoffed subconsciously at the thought. Friend?. "Kai is no brother of mine, nor would I hold his close as such. I merely wanted to see the man tested in the sands" He confessed, thinking on the Argonian's words. He mistook Kai for dead. Lycus couldn't blame him, the wounds he sustained were enough to make anyone believe so.

He looked about the Bloodworks, trying to see if he could spot the rogue Imperial. "Kai yet lives. His effiency with his martial skills provided him that certainty."

Stepping away from the water jug, he stretched a bit. The strains on his muscles were bothering him, so he saw fit to soothe them with proper action. "I competed often, yes. Yet I fear it might be the last time I set foot before the howling crowd. With the Thalmor threat closing in, I fear we do not have much time. The city is marked."

[Bigze Stacks]

Rashaava
Imperial City, Arena Bloodworks - 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Before responding to Rashaava's congratulations, Lycus walked over to a large clay jug holding a massive amount of water, likely used to refresh and cleanse oneself after a match. The Imperial grabbed a wooden cup and dipped it into the jug to get a drink, creating ripples on the pool's surface as well as a slight splash. As often happened in such situations, the water brought back many fond memories: swimming in the murky depths of the sea off the coast of Thorn during his youth, or more recently simply relaxing at the bottom of the Rumare, away from prying, judgmental eyes. I haven't felt the sea's cool embrace in a very long time... Rashaava shunted aside the ocean's call when Lycus responded:

“The best techniques are passed on by the survivors. I only live to survive. And Benalin's reputation is well-known. But you did well to notify me. Gratitude.”

The man leaned up against the large jug, cup in hand; Rashaava perceived a very slight heaviness of breath in him. He is very skilled, but that fight was not easy. Then, in response to Rashaava's inquiry about Kai, Lycus said,

“Kai is no brother of mine, nor would I hold him close as such. I merely wanted to see the man tested in the sands.” Well, he certainly was tested... too much, it seems. Lycus then looked around the room, as if searching for something, before saying,

“Kai yet lives. His efficiency with his martial skills provided him that certainty.”

Amazing! I remember seeing him take that brutal spear strike; he was collapsed on the sands, which were soaked with his own blood! Managing to survive, let alone walk, after such an injury... He is formidable, indeed.

As Rashaava tried to process this surprising bit of information, Lycus stepped away from the jug and, stretching, proceeded to further disrupt Rashaava's perception of current matters:

“I competed often, yes. Yet I fear it might be the last time I set foot before the howling crowd. With the Thalmor threat closing in, I fear we do not have much time. The city is marked.”

Rashaava, due to his race and personality, very rarely exhibited outward emotions or reactions to surprising news. Yet, nonetheless, this nonchalant statement actually caused him to take a very small step backwards. Thalmor? Impossible! Momentarily forgetting about Kai, he responded in a hushed but fervent whisper,

“Did I hear you correctly? The heart of the Empire is in danger of Thalmor attack? We've been at war for a few years now, but those racist mer have only dared invading the areas where the Legion is stretched thin! Firing from the protection of Valenwood's forests is one thing, but attacking the Imperial City itself? What makes you believe such a thing?”

[Heather Stewart]

Lycus Desselius, The Imperial City, Arena Bloodworks -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Lycus, knowing the Argonian for a brief while, took notice that he was one that masked what he felt. His facial expressions were neutral, as his was at times, but more so. Yet the word of the Thalmor was enough to cause the Argonian to take a step back. His controlled whisper only gave confirmation of his distress.

"Did I hear you correctly? The heart of the Empire is in danger of Thalmor attack? We've been at war for a few years now, but those racist mer have only dared invading the areas where the Legion is stretched thin! Firing from the protection of Valenwood's forests is one thing, but attacking the Imperial City itself? What makes you believe such a thing?” Rashaava spoke to him in a hushed tone.

From his words alone, Lycus had the impression that Rashaava disliked the Thalmor, refering to them as racist. But also that he was among many in the city that had no idea of the invasion. Countless lives will be lost, yes, but in war, people die. It was the sad truth. Lycus found it nescessary to at least tell those whom he had respect for. Rashaava, though in small deeds, did earn a bit of respect. But Lycus kept his own outbursts and thoughts under control.

I should tell him, he thought. The Imperial took a seat on one of the wooden benches, hunched over as he began to think. At the same time, he nodded. "You heard correctly."

He leaned back this time, trying to remember the details of last night's escapade. "I, my sister, and a few others were captured and kept prisoner in a Thalmor camp miles from here."

Lycus considered adding more about the escape plan, and the Bosmer who came with the idea, and the ones who fought. But he wasn't one for details. "We all fought. Some died, some escaped. Those of us that lived came to discover that there is a greater number of them out there, soon to breach the city in full force."

He rose to his feet once more, his gaze set on Rashaava. "It would be wise to return to your Marsh. The Empire has no power there, not anymore. High Rock or Skyrim is the ideal place to seek refuge, considering war has not plagued the lands yet. All that is in my knowledge is that the city itself might not live to see next week."

Realizing he kept the part about meeting the Emperor out of Rashaava's knowledge, Lycus didn't saw anything else. He warned the Argonian and that was enough.

[Donatus Uwasomba]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn, 4th room on the right

Realization crept over Alyraa as she stood there, waiting for the imperial woman to answer. The bosmer was certainly dead, his body unceremoniously stuffed inside the cabinet. What kind of person would do that? Alyraa was talking to a cold blooded killer, but she needed the imperial, she couldn’t leave now, no matter how much the woman scared her.

“That‘s a warning to those that would consider crossing the wrong people. Benalin was wanted dead. So I killed him. You might of wanted the same if you knew more about him. He’s more trouble than he’s worth,” the woman said, echoing the innkeeper’s sentiment of the elf.

The imperial seemed to be trying to explain his death, justify it even. It seems a lot of people didn’t like the bosmer, Alyraa thought, though she still wasn’t comfortable with the assassination, it didn’t seem right. The truth was, bounty hunting was dirty work, and Alyraa had just been thrown in the middle of it.

“I was not counting on your little intrusion. It was unexpected. Just behave and it will all be over soon,” the woman said menacingly. She closed the gap between her and Alyraa, and held up a finger. “You’re lucky I don’t kill you either,” she warned, “I’ll let you live because you had nothing to do with this. And you might be useful.”

Alyraa gulped. I might be useful? She didn’t know what the woman’s plans were, but apparently she was a part of them, though she didn’t know how much help she could be to a professional. The woman watched her closely as she stuffed Benalin’s body back inside the cabinet. Alyraa stood there silent, not knowing what to do.

“If you are new to Cyrodiil, then you chose a bad time to come here. I can smell the trouble brewing and it’s safe to say the province is at the brink of war. I advise to pack your things and leave before things get uglier.”

The war my brothers were so eager to join. They would jump at the chance to be in my shoes right now, if this woman is right about the impending danger.

The woman made her over to the table and grabbed some water, washing the bloody evidence from her hands. “As soon as I walk out of that door, you are going to accompany me to the outside. If you so much as breathe a traitorous word I’ll stick a blade to your throat. But judging by your need of me, you’re smarter than that.”

Alyraa nodded. She had learned enough about the woman not to attempt to sabotage her escape now. She remembered back to her conversation with the innkeeper. He knows I came to see Benalin, I’ll be the fugitive. What am I going to do?

Her mind was racing. Did the innkeeper know of the imperial too? Surely she would be smart enough not to give herself away. Should she mention it? Would the woman abandon her? I’m a liability, she’ll probably kill me too. She decided against revealing the information for now. It seemed Alyraa needed the woman more than she knew.

“I’ll lock this room as soon as we get out. We’ll take the back door and leave.”

Alyraa gathered herself, and walked over to the woman. She didn't have any other options, she would have to trust the imperial.

"Okay, I'm right behind you. My name is Alyraa," it's probably not the best time for introductions, but it only seems right, "whats your name?"

[Scared humanity]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Merchant's Inn -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Everything was packed and ready. Illana just adopted the apperance of a common citizen of the Empire instead of a cold and murderous vigilante. She hauled the sack over her back and proceeded out of the door, eyes looking over her shoulder as she did it. She couldn't help but feel the situation made her eager and alert. She felt as if she was the prey, and in thought of the prey, her mind began to revolve around the ideas and thoughts of the hunt. She longed to run free from there, to take down elk or deer, or chase a family of wild pigs. Killing Benalin wasn't much of a challenge, and it was even less of a thrill. There was no glory in killing a defenseless Bosmer. Not even a proper chase. But soon, she hoped, I can have a real hunt.

"Okay, I'm right behind you. My name is Alyraa," the Nord said "whats your name?"

I can see she wants to truly know who I am, Illana thought the obvious. She held her tongue as she locked the door to his room, only to stuff the keys on the pocket of the leather pants No one would be able to walk in unless they broke the door down, or unless the tavern owner used a spare. She walked as soft as she possible could, causing a minor creaking sound here and there, but nothing too noticeable by the loud patrons below. Even more silent was her mouth, she didn't say anything to the Nord who introduced herself as Alyraa. She wasn't doing it out of pure rudeness, but rather due to the situation. She didn't want to break words when she was suppose to be inconspicous.

Illana couldn't help but feel a resemblance to Alyraa. In a few ways, she reminded her of herself when she was younger. Quiet, naive, scared for her life. But also prudent in a certain way. The way she dressed and the young spark of adventure was enough of a comparison. The lenght and color of Alyraas' hair also brought memories of her mother, when she was yet alive, breathing and smiling. That was a long time ago...she told herself again and again. When days were better than this. When life was less of a struggle.

As she reached the bottom, she swiftly took a turn around the corner of the bottom hallway, evading any prying eyes of the patrons that were too drunk and otherwise seated the other way to even spot her. She went through the backway, hoping to walk out into the alley and to be able to return to the barracks. Or at least find Lycus. She picked up the pace, walking much faster this time. She looked at Alyraa, hoping she was following for the sake of a non-violent escape. "I go by the name of the huntress."

She said as she walked out the backdoor. "Alyraa. That's a beautiful name."

[Luis Longoria]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn, 4th room on the right


Alyraa followed the young woman through the doorway. The imperial had changed herself from bounty hunter to lowly citizen; she looked quite different. The pack full of armor and weapons the woman had slung over her back looked heavy, but she didn’t seem to have any trouble carrying it. If anyone saw them now, it might seem that Alyraa was the adventurer, and the imperial woman was her companion tasked with carrying her things. Alyraa laughed to herself at the thought of it, while silently applauding the woman for her quick transformation.

The woman locked the door behind them, and then proceeded down the hallway with a remarkable silence. Alyraa followed her, trying her best to emulate the imperial’s steps, each creak of the floor under her boots a reminder, however, that she wasn’t up to the task. The woman didn’t bother to answer her questions, instead keeping her mouth as silent as her feet. Alyraa followed her lead as they made their way down the stairs and turned the corner down a hallway that lead to the back door.

Alyraa glanced back at the room as they went. The patrons were too busy with their drinks, or the waitresses, to notice them. She spotted the innkeeper at the bar, speaking to a few new customers. How long til he comes looking? It didn’t matter now, she had made her decision to join the imperial instead of turn her in. She turned back to see the woman walking out of building, and quickened her pace to catch up.

"I go by the name of the huntress. Alyraa. That's a beautiful name."

The Huntress? She wondered if the woman considered herself famous, or longed for the recognition.

“Thank you,” said replied, “The Huntress, that’s very imposing. I like it.”

Her sense of adventure flooded her again as they made their way into the streets. She had come a long way from Skyrim, and had managed to have her horse stolen by bandits, walked in on a murder, might be a fugitive, and was now accompanying a bounty hunter. It was scary and exciting all at the same time, yet she enjoyed the feeling immensely.

She smiled to herself, and continued to follow the huntress into the Imperial City.

[CxvIII]

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

A young legionnaire burst through the door, his breath short as he glanced about the small commons room. Three Imperials sat within, each holding a mug of ale, their armor resting on the wall. The young soldier saluted quickly, a crumpled slip of parchment in his other hand. "Word from the emperor, sir! His grace wishes to see the Thalmor runaways at once, in his audience chamber."

The three older men shared a brief glance, the most senior among them- a gray haired military man with deep blue eyes- rising to his feet. "Very well, soldier, at ease." The younger Imperial nodded sharply, folding his hands behind his back as he waited for the man to continue. "Last I heard half of them had left for the market district, and the rest were staying here in the barracks. Inform them first, then send someone off to find the others. It will not do to keep the emperor waiting."

The soldier saluted once more, but before he could go one of the other officers spoke up. "Didn't Vaultren say he was going to check on them? Knowing that snake you're most likely to find them in the interrogation chambers. Especially if they really did escape the damned elves camp."

The oldest Imperial nodded. "Sounds like him, all right." The blue eyed officer turned back to the messenger, one steely eyebrow raised. "You heard him, boy. Down to Vaultren's blood rooms, and be quick about it." The young man looked about uneasily for a moment, but then saluted once more. As he turned to leave, the old soldier spoke up again, "You'll be fine, lad, just don't upset him and he's perfectly civil."

The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

“To arms!” The cry rang out from the interrogation room, each soldier echoing it as he unsheathed his short sword and dashed for the door. Just as the quickly growing band of legionnaires reached it, however, the door slammed closed, barred on the other side. The guards could hear fighting from within, and did their best to force open the door, but to no avail. After another effort, the commanding officer muscled his way forward, ordering the assembled Imperials- over a dozen by now- aside. "Tribune Vaultren, what is the meaning of this? Open the door at once!"

After a terse moment a reply came from the other side, but it was not the smooth voice of an Imperial. The gruff words were muffled by the door, but their meaning was clear. "We will not. The tribune is indisposed, but unhurt. We will not open the door until we are guaranteed our safety."

The Imperials bristled, their hands clenching tighter around their swords, but the commander was not so easily riled. "And just who am I speaking to, that requires a promise of safety within our walls?"

It was another moment before the reply came- more sounds of struggle came from the room, putting the soldiers further on edge- but when it did all grew quiet. "I am Faendal, captain of my company. We escaped the Thalmor only to be unjustly attacked by your officer. Fearing for the lives of my men, I retaliated. Vaultren is alive, as is all of my company, and I demand to see the emperor at once for a fair trial."

Now even the officer was red faced, banging on the door with one of his heavy gauntlets. "The Empire does not negotiate; if you have assaulted a commander of the Legion, you will be executed at once! Now open the door before I have it torn down!"

Before the reply could come from the other side, however, a different door opened, this one at the back of the room. A thin, young Imperial stepped hesitantly into the corridor, gazing fearfully at the assembly of enraged soldiers. The officer turned towards the young soldier at once, earning a hasty salute from the nervous Imperial, along with a quickly stammered message. "Word from Captain Tiberius, sir, along with a message from the emperor himself! The- um- men that escaped the Thalmor camp are to report to the imperial audience chamber at once. They are wanted by the emperor."

The officer strode past his men, some still eying the closed door belligerently, his eyes hard as he stared down the messenger. "Well, isn't that convenient. I'd be happy to send them right along, if they'd open their damn door!" the Imperial roared, sending the messenger back a few quivering steps. "The escapees have taken the tribune hostage, and demand to see the emperor. Well, they've got their wish now! Tell those traitors the emperor's justice is waiting for them, on the executioner's axe!"


The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174

OOC: Yellow group, I'll leave it up to you to write your own messenger scenes. Just have an Imperial runner find you wherever you are and tell you to report to White Gold. Or, if you'd like, we can timeskip straight there and gloss over the formalities. All that matters is we all meet up soon, so whatever you need to do to make that happen is fine.

Red team, I left the situation inside the room purposefully vague; Werewolf, I leave it up to you how Vaultren was subdued, whether it was willingly or not. From the point my post ended Faendal will negotiate our release and we will be quickly escorted to the audience chamber. My next post will be in the palace, so get done whatever you have to first. There's not really much for us to do, but I wanted to give the yellow team the option of playing out their summons. No matter what we'll be meeting for the talk with the emperor within the next day or two though, so keep an eye out.

Thank you to everyone for your patience; from here the RP should wrap up quickly though, then we can recruit a couple new players and begin the last portion of the intro.

[NAtIVe GOddess]

Vaultren. Guard Barracks, Imperial City.
Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


Never in a thousand decades would Vaultren imagine himself surrendering. He always promised himself, that he would fight until his last breath fled from his body. But he did, he had to. He raised his arms and stood his ground, sheathing his weapon. His hands aimed toward the ceiling. Oh how he hoped he could fight each one.
"Tribune Vaultren, what is the meaning of this? Open the door at once!" One of his men called out for him. Instead of answering, he kept his mouth clenched, allowing the others to speak for him.

“We will not. The tribune is indisposed, but unhurt. We will not open the door until we are guaranteed our safety." The Mer said.

The Imperial considered summoning a chain of lightning that would spread to each and every single one as a virus, but his skills with the elemental shock was not improved. Fire would be the easiest to summon, he could create a large flame that would scorch his enemies to ash, but then he could suffer the same fate in such an enclosed space. He had no choice but to use his conniving antics rather than force.

One of the soldiers asked the identity of the one in charge, and the Elf answered once more. “I am Faendal, captain of my company. We escaped the Thalmor only to be unjustly attacked by your officer. Fearing for the lives of my men, I retaliated. Vaultren is alive, as is all of my company, and I demand to see the emperor at once for a fair trial."

Ha! Lies. My men? You mean your Altmer prisoner? Unjustly? He was found guilty even by one of your men. He stood in the same position, eyeing each of his “captors” with a hateful stare, as if he was going to lurch out and rip their throats with his bare hands.

“The Empire does not negotiate; if you have assaulted a commander of the Legion, you will be executed at once! Now open the door before I have it torn down!”

Vaultren smirked. That would be delightful, wouldn’t it? Hanged. Crucified. Or perhaps even beheaded as the Nordic men do. Whichever seemed more fitting. Perhaps different executions for each of them? But Vaultren doubted they would be executed. They held valuable information, and the Emperor, being as merciful and understanding as the rest of the fools before him, would grant them leniency.

Suddenly, a new individual jumped into the indirect confrontation. This Imperial was not among Vaultren’s soldiers, and he appeared to have word from the Emperor himself. One of his guards responded with agression.

"Well, isn't that convenient. I'd be happy to send them right along, if they'd open their damn door!" he shouted. "The escapees have taken the tribune hostage, and demand to see the emperor. Well, they've got their wish now! Tell those traitors the emperor's justice is waiting for them, on the executioner's axe!"

Vaultren had enough for the time being. He would see if the emperor was willing to execute them, or if he would stand by and allow them to go free with their lives. “Enough,” Vaultren shouted. “All of my men, stand down.”

“But sir!”

“Sheathe your swords!” commanded Vaultren with an even higher voice. He heard his men put away their blades. He looked at the Mer in charge.

“If you want to see the emperor, open the door,” Vaultren said with a softer, more darker voice. “My men will not act against you. Not until the emperor himself orders your execution.”

If that is ever going to happen, he seethed.

[Marquis T]

Waylas
Interrogation Room, The Imperial City, Cyrodiil - 11^th of Second Seed, 4E 174


After the guards discovered that the Altmer belonged to the Aldemeri Dominion they had brought him in for interrogation. At first Waylas considered leaving, but he decided to stick with his new found companions. Plus he didn't want to be left by himself when the Thalmore launched their attack on the city. He followed his companions down to the torture room, it was sparse save for a couple chairs and a table in the center.

The Redguard now sat in a wooden chair that lay in the corner. He watched with his legs crossed and his chin rested on his hand as the Imperials tortured the Altmer. He thought it was pretty enjoyable to watch a Thalmor get tortured for a change. He had to suppress his laughter as the bastard tried to stammer out his words through the pain.

"I'm ...not...a...Thalmor!" he winced, as the guard cast an agonizingly painful torture spell on him. 'Ha! Not a Thalmor!', Waylas thought. 'The mer is obviously just lying to save himself.'

"Enough!" A half Bosmer yelled. "This Altmer saved the lives of thirteen Aldmeri prisoners, together we led them here for safety and yet we are greeted by the same hospitality the Thalmor had shown us only hours ago. Both he and I have shed Thalmor blood, though he was once one himself he turns against his horrid commanders."

Waylas shook his head his head in disbelief. But his mood quickly turned from enjoyment to sympathy. He didn't trust the Altmer, not one bit, but now he felt sorry for the mer. This elf hardly seemed that loyal to the Thalmor, maybe he wasn't one after all. It was almost barbaric watching these sick Imperial bastards torture the defenseless Altmer. For a moment Waylas thought of objecting to the torture, but he was too worried about saving his own skin. He knew he always had to look out for himself first above all else.

As the torturing of the Altmer continued, the guardsmen was suddenly interrupted by Faendal tackling him to the ground. Waylas shot up from his chair in excitement as the two wrestled to the ground. The Bosmer had him pinned down with his hands around the Imperials neck as fire shot from the guard's hands. He then head-butted the elf knocking him back, and began to squirm out from underneath him.

"You fool, what are you doing!" Waylas muttered to the Bosmer.

“Traitors! You’re all dead! To arms!” The Imperial screamed at the top of his lungs as he finally freed himself from Faendal's grasp. Waylas then looked around the room as the guards all pulled out their swords in a hostile manner.

"Guard the Door", Faendal yelled. "No one gets out until he's dead." The Bosmer them stumbled towards the Altmer and released him from his shackles and pulled him off the ground.

Waylas quickly unsheathed his sword as he kicked an approaching guard to the ground. 'Great and here I thought I could get out of this with my head still on my shoulders' Waylas thought to himself.

Waylas then heard down the hall as over a dozen guards outside began to clamor towards the door. Luckily the door had been slammed shut and barred from the other side. He then heard as the commanding officer yell from the other side "Tribune Vaultren, what is the meaning of this? Open the door at once!" Waylas then heard a rough voice reply "We will not. The tribune is indisposed, but unhurt. We will not open the door until we are guaranteed our safety."

"And just who am I speaking to, that requires a promise of safety within our walls?" The officer yelled back through the door. "I am Faendal, captain of my company. We escaped the Thalmor only to be unjustly attacked by your officer. Fearing for the lives of my men, I retaliated. Vaultren is alive, as is all of my company, and I demand to see the emperor at once for a fair trial."

"Ah great! I'm going to be taken prisoner again?" Waylas exclaimed. So many things were racing through Waylas's head. First off since when were they a company, and who voted Faendal as captain? And secondly, see the emperor for a fair trial? Whether the emperor believed them or not, Waylas was already a criminal and would be executed regardless.

“The Empire does not negotiate; if you have assaulted a commander of the Legion, you will be executed at once! Now open the door before I have it torn down!” The commanding officer roared from the other side of the door.

"That Officer has some serious issues." Waylas chuckled.

“Enough,” Vaultren shouted. “All of my men, stand down.” The tribune ordered.

“But sir!” A guard responded.

“Sheathe your swords!" Vaultren ordered again. Vaultren now turned to the old Bosmer. “If you want to see the emperor, open the door, my men will not act against you. Not until the emperor himself orders your execution.”

[Dylan Markese]

Imperial City Barracks, 11th of Second Seed, 4E 174

Errialor

"Tribune Vaultren, what is the meaning of this? Open the door at once!" Sounds like the Imperial's friends are at the door. I hope we have a way out of this.

"We will not. The tribune is indisposed, but unhurt. We will not open the door until we are guaranteed our safety," spoke the Bosmer.

"And just who am I speaking to, that requires a promise of safety within our walls?"

The exchange of words continued. "I am Faendal, captain of my company. We escaped the Thalmor only to be unjustly attacked by your officer. Fearing for the lives of my men, I retaliated. Vaultren is alive, as is all of my company, and I demand to see the emperor at once for a fair trial."

The Altmer pondered his options. The Tribune, as they called him, was adamant that Errialor was a Thalmor. Even if he knew otherwise, he knew he was an ideal scapegoat for the cornered Imperials. I need to get out of here. This can't end well for me. I need to get out of the city before the Dominion army begins its attack. But I can't go back to them. If the Thalmor learn I told them what I knew, what that Imperial did will be nothing compared to what they'll do to me.

“Sheathe your swords!" Spoke the Tribune. “If you want to see the emperor, open the door, my men will not act against you. Not until the emperor himself orders your execution.” What a relief, Errialor thought. I hope for my sake the Emperor will be more forgiving than this man.

"Now that's over, could someone please unshackle me?" He doubted the Legion would release a Dominion prisoner, but perhaps the Bosmer could convince them.

[ShOrty]

Illana the Huntress, The Imperial City, Merchant's Inn -
11^th of Second Seed. 4E 174

Illana continued her pace until she reached another district, where she began to calm herself down from the eagerness that enveloped her minutes ago. From afar, she could spot the strange looking Dunmer noble whom she spoke with before the arena match had started. Now, I get paid, she thought. Then perhaps I can get that bath I wanted.

“Thank you,” Alyssa said to her.“The Huntress, that’s very imposing. I like it.”

The Imperial allowed herself a brief smile, though it was more of a smirk. I love it, she thought. Without paying much attention to the girl, she huntress approached the Dunmer, sack still hanging over her back. Her arms were finally growing a bit tired, though it wasn't enough for her to set them down. The regal Dark Elf, dressed in common middle-class clothing to conceal his status, much like she did.

His crimson eyes gazed upon her. At first, he studied her, then he smiled when he realized who it was.

"What of him?" asked the Dunmer.

Illana kept her emotions collected and frigid. " On his way to see Jephre. And what of my payment?"

The Dunmer wasn't sure if she had commited the deed or not, but with her gentle, yet aggressive pursuasion and reputation for always getting the job done, they settle for a price. Eventually, the Dunmer paid her for her services, and finally departed with a simple thanks. Illana felt a sense of pride swell up over her. She held the small bag of gold in her hand, joyful of her payment. Sadly, she won't be able to spend it considering the danger the city was going to face.

She checked the amount of coin she had, inspecting the latest donation. It was in fact, good. She grinned to herself, flipping a single coin she retrieved from the bag. She seperated seven septims, giving them to Alyraa.

"I think you earned yourself a bit of coin. Here, you look famished. It's enough to quench the thirst and to sate your hunger." Illana said to her as she handed the coin over. As she performed the act, she felt something strange within her core. She wasn't use to giving her hard-earned gold to people, especially strangers.

Illana had a hard enough time trying to help out Lycus when he was short of coin. But in truth, it was more because Alyraa stood as a mirror to Illana, an innocent reflection of her. A direct opposite of a reflection, but a reflection nonetheless.

She sighed, heading to the barracks. "Spend it on whatever you want. I need a bath, a hot meal and some sleep. Then to Oblivion with this city."

[jodie]

Spoiler

Name: Alyraa

Race: Nord

Gender: Female

Age: 19

Sign: The Steed

Home Country: Skyrim

Skills: Speedy and athletic, expert in all things equine, particularly good fisher, a complete virgin to combat, zero magical ability.

Appearance: 6’0” tall, blue eyes, and long, wavy blonde hair that falls to just about her armpits. Her waist is toned, and her legs are very powerful, making them a little larger than those of another girl of her size, but not disproportional (no thunder thighs lol). She is quite lacking in upper body strength. So much so, in fact, that she can’t properly wield her two-handed sword. She is very fast, quite often outrunning speedy males. As well, she’s quick on her feet, agile, and nimble; all attributes gained from being chased by Skyrim’s many dangerous creatures.

Clothing/Armor: Brown fur boots, brown leather pants, 2 inch wide brown leather belt, second brown leather belt with loop for axe, white undershirt, dirty white short-sleeve string-tie (in place of buttons) overshirt with vertical light-brown stripes, a couple leather straps/bracelets on her left wrist, leather holster situated a little behind her left hip which holds her knife, and diagonal leather scabbard strapped over her right should for her claymore. Pack on her back.

Weapons: An old iron claymore with no ornate or discernible markings and a blade that’s seen better days. The rough leather straps that used to tightly wrap the handle are starting to come undone. The sword is held in a hard leather scabbard strapped diagonally across her back with the hilt rising above her right shoulder.

A small hand axe which hangs, in a loop on a second belt, off the right side of her waist. More of a tool than a real weapon, however, she has become proficient with throwing that particular axe in friendly competitions.

Other Items: Curved knife, leather canteen strapped to the pack, in the pack she has a horseshoe, some hooks and string, a rolled up fur blanket, a book of some rough maps, a small pouch of gold, a sharpening rock, and a few extra clothes for now.

Personality: She’s very independent, given her childhood, but she still welcomes company. Still young, she has sort of a know-it-all attitude that most young people have, while being naive.

History: Born into a family in northern Skyrim, along the coast, Alyraa was overshadowed by her two brothers for most of her life. Her father, a busy fisherman, spent the few hours he was home teaching the boys how to use an axe or swing a sword. Her mother, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the kitchen, preparing after-training meals for “her hard-working little warriors.” When her father left on a fishing trip, her mother would be out in the shed repairing the family’s armor and weapons, or sewing new clothes to replace the ones the boys ruined.

Left all to her own, Alyraa developed a sense of adventure, and spent her days roaming across Skyrim’s landscapes. Some days the family was more distracted by their routine than others, and on those days she would sneak the family’s horse out and ride for miles and miles, down to the lowest valleys and up to the tallest ridges. She developed a natural ability to move through the snow and woods, across mountains and streams, and a talent for finding her step in dark caves; important skills to have in Skyrim’s unforgiving wilderness.

One day, two weeks after her 19th birthday that no one mentioned to be exact, she got tired of going unnoticed, and had grown curious of the war her brothers were so eager to join. After packing a few things, grabbing the old claymore her father had gotten her before he knew she was a she and uninterested in being warrior, and stealing; no not stealing, she considered the horse hers, after all, she was the one who cared for it, “taking” her horse was more correct. After taking her horse from the stable, she rode off in the direction of the Imperial City, bound for adventure.

Alyraa
Merchant's Inn, 4th room on the right


Alyraa matched the huntress’ pace through the streets, staying close behind her as they made their way across the bustling city. They had left the market district behind, and it wasn’t until they came to the middle of another district that the woman finally slowed her pace. It seems she’s found what she’s looking for, Alyraa thought, as the woman eyed a dunmer standing across the road. She stepped off to the side as they approached the elf.

"What of him?" the elf asked.

"On his way to see Jephre. And what of my payment?"

Alyraa stood out of the way watching the exchange intently. With good reason too, the day had been rather eventful, and she wasn’t sure whether every one of the huntress’ meetings were so violent. The two seemed to understand each other, however, and shortly after the elf produced a bag of gold from inside his coat and slipped away. The woman checked the bag, presumably making sure the amount was sufficient, then handed her a few coins.

Alyraa was shocked at the handout.

"I think you earned yourself a bit of coin. Here, you look famished. It's enough to quench the thirst and to sate your hunger. Spend it on whatever you want. I need a bath, a hot meal and some sleep. Then to Oblivion with this city."

She felt anger start to well up in her as the woman spoke. She was no beggar, in fact, she had been doing just fine on her own. Well, except the horse, she remembered. Still, I don’t need this woman’s charity. I just met her. She calmed herself down a bit before she spoke.

“No thank you, I have enough,” she said, handing the coins back. “I’ll come find you later.”

She smiled as they parted ways, hoping she hadn’t sounded too rude. She was used to being alone, it had been that way all her life, and definitely wasn’t used to kind gestures. I was too rude, she thought, regretting her behavior. She decided she was going to have to work on that.

She headed off to find an inn, a bath, and a meal.

[DAVId MArtInez]

Kai Xerosa - The Imperial City; Arena Bloodworks.

Kai limped carefully out of the sight of the applauding citizens that had already begun to exit the arena. The dark tunnel leading back down into the Bloodworks seemed never-ending, and without company Kai felt his consciousness wane. His vision blurred and his pace slowed as he pushed himself up against the wall to give him some balance. He had lost a lot of blood, and the once white cotton shirt was now a soaked red rag, that was evidently struggling to maintain the ever-expanding wound in his thigh. Kai pushed on however, displaying his distinctive resilience more so than ever before. At last, the tunnel came to an end and the Bloodworks, which was now far emptier than before seemed to reassure Kai. Fighting through the pain, Kai wearily made his way to a large bowl of water, noticing out of the corner of his eye Lycus speaking to a female as Kai silently passed by. Something about the girl was familiar, but in his battered state, Kai could not place her.

Kai slowly began to remove the makeshift bandage from his wound after he’d sat down beside the large tub of water. Kai had collected from a nearby shelf, a large bottle of whiskey, unsure of exactly what it was doing in the Bloodworks, as well as a new cloth to re-dress his gash.

Kai took a swig of the whiskey in preparation for the pain he was about to endure, before pouring the alcohol into and around the blood-stained wound. Reaching next for the water to clean away the blood and sweat from the wound ensuring that it was clean so as to avoid infection. The pain still throbbing through his body, Kai tried his best to wrap the new cloth as tightly as possible around his laceration, which although wasn’t complete in removing the pain, did it’s best to help by putting pressure on his leg and hopefully stemming the blood flow.

After taking a few gulps of the water beside him Kai lay back, resting his head on his arm as he peered up at the ceiling of the Bloodworks and letting out a sigh of relief. ‘This is why I should stick to boxing’ he thought to himself, unintentionally mumbling as he did so. At least he had survived, although only just and at last Kai gave some consideration to those that had died on the sand. He hadn’t expected it to be so many.

Kai didn’t stay stationary for long, and upon regaining some strength, mentally and physically, he pushed himself up from beside the bowl of water, hobbling onto his stronger leg, and working his way slowly across the room. Noticing only now that the woman that had earlier shared Lycus’ company had since been replaced with that of an Argonian, who seemed to be conversing with Lycus over matters that Kai was unable to hear.
Making his way over to them, Kai looked more closely at the Argonian, recognising him, although unable to explain how or why.

“Lycus, my friend, I don’t suppose there is anywhere down here that I might be able to satiate myself, is there? I’m somewhat hungry after that entertaining battle, and it’s probably a little ambitious to assume I could make it to the nearest Inn with my leg in such a state.” Kai smirked, ignoring whatever conversation the two may have been having, whilst sarcastically making light of the clearly near-fatal wound that had now leaked blood onto the newly replaced cloth.